"What was it like? Why, what's a hare always like?"

"Like you. The very image."

"Out with you--get out!" shrieks Inger.

"'Twas you sent Os-Anders with that hare. I'll have you punished; I'll
have you put in prison for that."

"Prison--was it prison you said?"

"Oh, you're jealous and envious of all you see; you hate me for all
the good things I've got," says Inger again. "You've lain awake with
envy since I got Isak and all that's here. Heavens, woman, what have
I ever done to you? Is it my fault that your children never got on in
the world, and turned out badly, every one of them? You can't bear the
sight of mine, because they're fine and strong, and better named than
yours. Is it my fault they're prettier flesh and blood than yours ever
were?"

If there was one thing could drive Oline to fury it was this. She had
been a mother many times, and all she had was her children, such as
they were; she made much of them, and boasted of them, told of great
things they had never really done, and hid their faults.

"What's that you're saying?" answered Oline. "Oh that you don't sink
in your grave for shame! My children! They were a bright host of
angels compared with yours. You dare to speak of my children? Seven
blessed gifts of God they were from they were little, and all grown up